


Dahliahs

by Lexebug



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Flower Crowns, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Magic-Users
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 18:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13746807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexebug/pseuds/Lexebug
Summary: Dave has spent the last year with his lungs cluttered with dahlias.Rating is for languagePossible emetophobia tw, it's not actually vomit but he does cough up flowers, which come from the lungs, not the stomach. Not sure if that counts as technical phobia material, so just in case.





	Dahliahs

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know what the fuck this is but imgood with it

Dave twirled the burgundy top hat on one finger, strutting in front of the small crowd he’d amassed. “Ladies, gentlemen, whoever else is out there, would you like to see,” he flipped the hat in the air, a spark dancing off of the brim and back into his waiting fingers, before the hat rested on the top of his head at the perfect angle, “a trick?” The crowd oohed and ahhed appropriately. Not enthusiastically, but appropriately. He had to get them primed, ready for the big finale. 

So, he started with the traditional approach. A pack of cards ruffled into his hands, seemingly out of nowhere (he’d actually managed to manipulate a small fraction of the nearby matter, which meant a brick on the wall behind him was now missing a brick) and he shuffled them into a splendid bridge, a rainbow with a flame flicking along the edge of it. “Now, I’ll need a volunteer from the audience for my first trick?” He said, and one of the newcomers waved her hand enthusiastically. He beckoned her forward, and she skipped up to his hand, box braids swinging with the energy of her bouncing. “Now, please, think of a card from your standard 52-deck.” She closed her eyes, furrowed her brows, and after a few seconds she nodded. “Got it? Good.” The trick was to not care about the person was really imagining; he wasn’t a psychic. Dave was an illusionist. All he had to do was dazzle them.

He shuffled the deck in nimble fingers, thinking it through. The perfect portrait, the perfect thing to show someone whatever they really wanted to see. The Queen of Spades. He looked up, memorizing her face, the bump in the bridge of the nose, the slight dip in her top lip. Long fake lashes, pink acrylic nails. “Is this your card, madam?” He asked, flipping his newest creation to face her.

A profile of her face, in striking color, a crown of daisies perched on her head. Light playing across brown skin as if she had been painted in the park on a sunny day, instead of outside a pub at 9:30 PM. A scepter with a flame licking the end of it, no bigger than that of a match, flickering off the face of the card. Eyes closed, lashes flaring dramatically. Pink acrylic nails held loosely at the stem of a dahlia tipped with gold. She squealed, grabbing for the card; Dave flipped it away before she could snatch it. “No souvenirs, ma’am, deepest apologies. You’ll always have the memories, won’t you?” He flipped the card in his hand, concentrating, and turned it towards the crowd to show what it had truly been; just a simple Queen of Spades. “Any requests for the next trick?” 

The girl melted back into the crowd, eyes glowing in amazement, and one of his regular yelled out from the crowd, “Fire breathing!” The other patrons made an interested collective murmur, and Dave grinned. Fire breathing was one of his favorites. He didn’t need any silly torches or alcohol, though. This was pure skill, years of practice turned into bills piled into his top hat. A sleight of hand turned sleight of mind.

Dave swung his hands in an exaggerated circle, and the crowd stepped backwards, laughing. “Hold onto your hats, everyone, this is a big one, I can feel it!” He inhaled, gathered his strength, and worked through it in his mind. At the end of the day, people saw what they wanted to see. There were quite a few petals now, gathering at the back of his throat. Enough to let him save some energy for his next set. Then he conjured the loudest sound he could to shake their eardrums, synced his mouth to it, and blew. 

The flames erupted from him in a stream of petals, showering over the audience in a fantastic spray of flame and gold-edged dahlia petals. They made some noise now, cheers, appreciative noises, bracelets shaking on wrists. Dave smiled and shifted the flame to his will; a tiger batting at a head of petals, which fell away and turned into a cheetah sprinting in a petal-filled wind, shifting to an ocean of fire lapping at shells filled with flowers. He gathered the petals, turning the flames away from them, into a full dahlia, then shifted the fire back to it so it appeared to burn away the gold-edged flower until it drifted to ash. The audience clapped wildly, and Dave dispersed the flames with a wave of his hand. The petals drifted to the ground. He scooped one up, holding it gently in one hand.

“Now, I will amaze you with my extremely skilled green thumb!” The audience chuckled, and Dave conjured up a navy blue handkerchief (two bricks gone now) and swept it over the petal. Three seconds, and he pulled it away to reveal a sprout, the two leaves on the top quivering. Over it again, a few dramatic movements with his free hand, and a tiny bush, barely five inches tall, sat in his palm. Someone in the audience oohed, and Dave grinned. Handkerchief, growth, rinse and repeat, until he was holding a towering dahlia plant, pink-edged flowers drooping on their stems from the weight of their own heads. The crowd clapped and cheered, and Dave plucked off a few flowers to hand to his nearest customers; like leprechaun’s gold, they’d be gone within the hour. Whisked back into the universe. Petals to flowers to nothing. 

“If you lovely folks wouldn’t mind, I am entertaining for profit here, so I’ll be passing my hat around while I prepare for my next trick, the big finale. Those of you who’ve been here before, don’t spoil it for the rest of us, and for those of you planning on snatching a dollar or two from the hat, I have a very impressively buff friend in the audience, who I’m sure wouldn’t mind showing off his strength to you. Got it?” A laugh from the audience, a wave to Equius as he towered above the other’s heads, and Dave tossed his hat into the crowd. Now, he had to get ready. Karkat was standing around the corner, he’d already given Dave their signal, and now it was just a waiting game.

He and Karkat Vantas went way back, as in sixth-grade way back, so about… thirteen or fourteen years back, actually. They’d first met when Dave won their class magic competition with his card tricks, and then after the show Karkat had slugged him in the face. All Dave had done was stare at the kid, who couldn’t be more than four feet tall, with his legs braced and his hands curled into fists. “What the hell, man?” Was all he got out before he was pulled into a too-tight hug as the kid cried apologies into his shoulder. As he walked to the nurse’s office, a tissue pressed to his bleeding nose, holding hands with a weird new kid who was still sniffling, Dave wondered what the fuck kind of cosmic circumstances had to align for this to happen.

Since then, him and Karkat had inadvertently stuck together. Karkat had nursed Dave through at least six identity crises, eleven breakthroughs, and countless nights of no sleep. Dave had been there when Karkat dyed his hair from its normal rusty brown to a dark black, then bleached it to some terrifying blondish-yellow. He had been the one to stick needles through far too many parts of Karkat’s body, followed by driving him to doctors when it inevitably went wrong. Sixteen lip ring attempts, all of them failed, until Karkat finally admitted it was probably better to go to a professional. And after that Dave had helped him clean out any and all new piercings he got, keep himself safe. Three in each ear, a tongue bar, eyebrow, snake bites. So many tears, nail imprints Dave’s hand when the needle came out. Despite his tough persona, Karkat had zero pain tolerance. Hell, Karkat had bought Dave his first binder, and then bought him a different one when Dave had passed out in front of him and nearly fractured a rib. 

It was thanks to Karkat that Dave was both an amazing magician and ridiculously boned for life. It was Karkat that had given him the energy to pursue his goals, and a rival to triumph over. And it was Karkat who had filled his lungs with dahlias. 

Dahlias meant dignity, elegance, commitment. A balance of adventure and peace. Of a large life change. And Dave was very, very familiar with dahlias, considering they consistently tickled at the back of his throat, gave him raspy, dry coughs, made him have to take the trash out far too often to avoid questions about the petals in the can. Tonight’s had been his favorite color, the white ones speckled and streaked with magenta. They looked so lovely. He’d get tired of them eventually, but he was only about a year along; no whole flowers yet, still could wear his binder with relative ease. He was figuring it out. Under control. He coughed, and a stray petal drifted to the ground. Yeah. Under control, his ass. 

From around the corner, Karkat gave the signal again, three taps of his foot that sent the concrete rippling ever so slightly under Dave’s toes. So he stepped back in front of the crowd, held a hand out and let his hat get carried back to him. Pocketed the cash, flipped the hat onto his head again. “Now, I thank you for your generous donations! We have our very special act coming up again tonight, as I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for; please, if you will, welcome Karkat Vantas, conjurer in the streets, and absolutely magical in the sheets, to the stage!” Karkat stepped out, bowing deeply, and Dave was the one who spotted the blush hiding under his freckles; once a week, the same mock duel, the same joking compliments. Same lovable sight. 

“Well, David, my age-old enemy,” he drawled, his stage voice high and lilting. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be pulverized.” His coattails fanned out behind him dramatically, and he tipped his hat cordially, bowing low to the ground, facing Dave this time. Only Dave saw the small smile that played across his lips, and he grinned back. This was why he loved Wednesdays.

“Vantas, we both know that won’t happen. Prepare your first trick.” The audience murmured excitedly, and Karkat smirked confidently at them. Dave already knew what he was doing this round; Karkat’s favorite coin trick, where he would flip a single dime into the air and have it turn into a chocolate coin, until he multiplied it and the audience was pelted by chocolate wrapped in gold. Dave would be doing his amazing escapist act, where he made the audience believe he was in a straitjacket, and then transfer the illusion to Karkat to make it seem like he’d been so skilled, that he had gotten someone else in the jacket. Then Karkat could ‘escape’, Dave would drop the glamour, and they’d continue on.

The crowd responded enthusiastically, grabbing for the chocolate falling from the sky, clapping and cheering Dave on as he mimed a struggle, and then for Karkat as he did the same. So he and his friend ran through their routine, familiar and simple. Dave weaved a glamour over Karkat’s face, turning him to various monsters as Karkat clutched his face in mock horror. Karkat wrapped circles around Dave with the multi-colored scarves he pulled from the air, snaring him and then tossing him into the air, spinning and landing on his feet steadily. “You’ll have to do better than that to upset my footing, Karkat,” Dave crowed, and Karkat made a face. Not his normal face. A grimace. 

Dave snapped his fingers lightly, a match-sized flame dancing from his hand to Karkat’s, warm and tickling. It was their signal, a check-in to see if the other was okay. Dave’s only warning was a miniscule shake of his head before Karkat was keeling over, hacking flower petals onto the ground. Dave rippled the sidewalk, moving the crowd back, and crouched next to Karkat who was choking out stamens. He was at seeds now, not just petals? He pointed at someone in the crowd, the girl with boxer braids from before. “Call 911. He needs help.” Then he ran a soothing hand over Karkat’s back as he arched and coughed out more bright red petals. 

The rest of the night passed in a blur of tears and flower petals. The ambulance came, the crowd cleared out. Karkat was knelt on the concrete in a pile of flower petals and pollen, and Dave wiped his face off with the handkerchief. “Do you know when it first manifested?” Someone barked at him, scooping Karkat into a bridal’s carry.

“No, tonight was the first night I knew. Is he gonna be okay?” The EMT opened the door for him to follow, and he clambered in, sitting on the shallow benches as they laid Karkat down on the long stretcher, cape hanging off the sides of the bed. 

“Yes, he’s having an episode. It will pass, but if he’s this advanced, we want him to be in a controlled environment.” Karkat’s chest was rising and falling too quickly, and Dave’s mind was moving far too fast. How long had this been happening? How far along was he, actually? Who was it?

He ran through the options in his head. He and Terezi had dated for a while. That weird stoner kid, Gamzee. John, maybe? None of them made sense. So instead, Dave sat and he held Karkat’s hand and brushed sprays of pollen from his face. He weakly choked up a few flowers, and an orderly rushed over, stethoscope in hand. “You’re not too bad, thank god,” they sighed, running the stethoscope over his chest and back. “About a year along?” Dave nodded, squeezing Karkat’s hand, even if he’d gone mostly incoherent now. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” They asked, and Dave looked up. They were smiling sympathetically, and it stuck right into his lungs, clogged with flowers. “I can tell by the way you’re looking at him.” They patted him on the shoulder, sadly. “Tell him sometime, okay? It’s always worth a shot.” Dave nodded weakly, and the orderly turned around and started running the stethoscope over Karkat’s front. 

Dave spent the night curled up in a plastic waiting room chair, sleeping fitfully outside Karkat’s room. At some point Karkat’s grandmother showed up and bustled into the room, pausing to cluck sympathetically and brush a stray hair from Dave’s face. 

The next morning, Dave unfurled himself and stretched, popping what felt like every bone in his body, and went to go hunt down some hospital coffee. Came back with two cups and waited outside the door until visiting hours started, then knocked gently and opened the door. Karkat was sitting up in bed, talking quietly to his grandmother. He brightened as Dave entered, and looked ready to throw himself out of the hospital bed to get over to him, until Rosa laid a hand on his arm.

“Miss Rosa, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” Rosa grinned. 

“Same to you, Mr. Strider.” She patted Karkat’s hand, and he groaned. 

“Rosa, can you give me and Dave a minute? Please?” He asked, and a look of understanding flickered between them. 

“Of course, Karkat. I actually have to head anyway, a prior engagement. Call me when you get out, alright?” She breezed out of the room, and Dave bounced onto the bed next to Karkat.

“How long?” He asked, quietly. Karkat looked out the window, not making eye contact.

“Two and a half years now. Didn’t think it would get this bad. Kind of hoped I’d have the balls to actually tell the person now.” He turned to Dave now, eyes wide. “What about you?”

Dave sighed. “I knew you’d figure out eventually. A year, or just about.” Karkat flopped back onto his bedspread, and Dave laid next to him. 

“Who is it?”

“You first.”

Karkat groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You really wanna know?” He asked, and Dave nodded earnestly. “It’s you, okay?” Dave’s hand hovered over Karkat’s, where he had been about to place it. Almost against his will, a laugh slipped out and Karkat glared at him. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, Strider. Not like I’m dying or anything.” He laughed again, louder.

“Karkat, it’s you! It’s you, it’s you, you’re the person I’m in love with!” He said through a raucous laugh, and Karkat stared. “God, it could have been so simple! It could have been so easy to fix this, except we’re both cowards!” Karkat clapped his hands around Dave’s face, staring into his eyes with a terrifying clarity.

“Dave, tell me honestly. Are you in love with me?” He nodded, tears pricking his eyes, and Karkat sighed in obvious relief. A few heartbeats of silence.

“Karkat?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I kiss you?” 

Next Wednesday, Karkat stepped out from behind the corner and brandished his hat dramatically. Dave grinned, readying his cards. His lungs were clear, his heart was full, and he was ready. He didn’t have to look at Karkat to make art of him; he already knew every inch of his face, every shifting plane and freckle. The King of Hearts. “Karkat, is this your card?”

Karkat in striking detail, skin sprayed with freckles. A shawl of bright red poppies hung around his shoulders, gleaming with dewdrops. A scythe held in each hand, tossed loosely behind his head. A crown of dahlias sitting on the crown of his head, shining in a ring of flames. Karkat, in blooming glory. 

The real Karkat took one look at the card and snatched it from Dave’s hands, tossing it into the air. It burst into a cloud of cabbage butterflies, and he smiled at Dave, maybe not as daringly as he should have for his act as a rival. But Dave just smiled back and conjured up a matching, fluttering group, and when the audience was sufficiently distracted, he reached for Karkat’s and and squeezed. Karkat squeezed back.

**Author's Note:**

> nice thanks for reading


End file.
